GIFT  OF 


ILYAOF 
MUROM 

THE  EIGHTEENTH  GROVE  PLAY 
OF  THE  BOHEMIAN  CLUB 

I92O 


ILYA  OF  MUROM 

BY 

CHARLES  CALDWELL /DOBIE 

MUSIC  BY 

ULDERICO  MARCELLI 

THE  EIGHTEENTH  GROVE  PLAY  OF  THE 
BOHEMIAN  CLUB  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO 

AS  PERFORMED  BY  ITS  MEMBERS  IN  THE  BOHEMIAN  GROVE 
SONOMA   COUNTY,   CALIFORNIA,   ON  THE  TWENTY- 
FOURTH    NIGHT   OF  JULY,  NINETEEN 
HUNDRED  AND  TWENTY 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

BOHEMIAN  CLUB 

I92O 


COPYRIGHT  1920 

BY  BOHEMIAN  CLUB 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


PRINTED    BY    BRUCE   BROUGH 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CALIFORNIA 


FOREWORD 

The  material  for  the  following  Grove  Play  was  gleaned 
from  the  legends  of  Little  Russia,  known  as  the  Kiev  cycle. 
It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  state  that  many  liberties  have 
been  taken  with  the  original  tales  in  order  to  weld  them  into 
a  dramatic  whole. 

Many  of  the  lyrics  have  followed  in  form  and  spirit ',  as 
nearly  as  possible ,  old  Russian  folk  songs  and  dances ',  while 
others,  obviously,  are  modeled  along  more  conventional  lines. 

The  author  craves  the  indulgence  of  all  who  have  the  good 
fortune  to  have  the  technique  of  poetry  at  their  command. 
Failing  such  knowledge,  and  fearing  the  heaviness  of  pages 
of  florid  prose,  he  has  availed  himself  of  the  new  poetic 
license  and  broken  up  the  dialogue  into  very  free  verse. 


43197.3 


NOBLES 


C.  C.  BROADWATER 
W.  C.  HAYS 


W.  F.  LEIB 
L.  W.  MACE 


G.  HAMMERSMITH 
JOHN  R.  SELBY 


W.  H.  FRENCH 
ANDREW  F.  MAHONY 


SOLDIERS 

PRESTON  McKiNNEY 
R.  D.  MERRILL 


R.  L.  SHURTLEFF 
GEORGE  B.  STACY 


CHARLES  K.  FIELD 


FRUIT  BEARERS 

RUSSELL  B.  FIELD 
BURT  F.  LUM 


GEORGE  C.  LEIB 


STAGE  DIRECTOR 
LIGHTING 

FLIGHT 

DIRECTORS  OF  DANCE 

PROPERTIES 

CHORUS  MASTER 
CONDUCTOR 
CONCERT  MASTER 
ORCHESTRA  MANAGER 


REGINALD  TRAVERS 
EDWARD  J.  DUFFEY  assisted 

by  VINCENT  DUFFEY 
WM.  H.  SMITH 
TED  SHAWN  assisted  by 

GEORGE  HAMMERSMITH 
HARRY  P.  CARLTON  and 

HARRY  S.  FONDA 
EUGENE  BLANCHARD 
ULDERICO  MARCELLI 
T.  H.  JENSEN 
WALTER  OESTERRICHER 


PLACE:    Forest  Glades  near  Kiev 
TIME:       The  Middle  Ages 


PLAN  OF  MUSIC 
ACT  I 

Prelude 

Lament  of  Ilya 

Hymn  of  Peasants 

Dance  and  Song  of  Peasants 

Wayfarers'  Chorus 

Miracle  Music 

Finale 

ACT  II 

Interlude 

Entrance  of  Nightingale 

Theme  of  Ilya 

Theme  of  Zlatigorka 

Dance  of  the  Bird-Demons 

Wayfarers'  Chorus 

ACT  III 

Opening  Chorus  of  Peasants 

March  of  the  Nobles 

Entrance  of  Falcon 

Fight  between  Ilya  and  Falcon 

Funeral  March 

Hymn  of  Peasants 

Wayfarers'  Chorus 

Finale 


NIGHTINGALE,  the  Robber 


ILYA  OF  MUROM 

A  FOLK-TALE  DRAMA 

ACT  I 

A  FOREST  GLADE  IN  HOLY  RUSSIA 

Before  the  curtain  is  raised  the  lament  of  ILYA  is  heard. 
ILYA  (singing) 

Tis  not  the  breeze  sighing  so  long  and  vainly, 
Nor  yet  the  sky  drenching  thy  hair  with  dew; 
No,  'tis  thy  poor  Ilya,  seeking  God's  blessing, 
Plead  for  me,  little  mother,  plead  for  thy  helpless  son! 

'Tis  not  the  fluttering  of  a  wounded  nestling, 

Nor  yet  the  twig  snapping  before  the  axe; 

Nay,  'tis  my  poor  heart  breaking  in  twain, 

Plead  for  me,  little  mother,  plead  for  thy  helpless  son! 

{At  the  conclusion  of  the  lament,  the  curtain  rises. 
ILYA  is  discovered  upon  a  rude  couch  of  straw 
and  boughs.  A  rustic  table  is  at  his  side  with  a 
jug  of  water  and  a  few  homely  household  utensils 
upon  it.  Off  stage  comes  the  sound  of  song  and 
snatches  of  laughter  and  the  ringing  note  of  axes. 
ILYA  raises  himself  upon  his  elbow  and  listens, 
struggles  as  if  to  rise,  and,  lifting  his  hands 
toward  Heaven  in  supplication,  falls  back  sob 
bing.  MARYA  enters.  She  catches  the  sound  of 
ILYA'S  grief  and  rushes  toward  him,  dropping 
to  her  knees  and  lifting  him  up. 

[9] 


ILYA 

Good  mother,  let  me  but  dry  these  bitter  tears 

Upon  the  soft  patience  of  thy  smile 

And  I  shall  be  as  blue-skyed  as  a  noon-day  hour 

After  the  dripping  anger  of  April  has  spent  itself. 

Forthou,of  all  my  kin,  know  best  the  burden  of  my  grieving, 

Thou  who  hast  borne  me  to  this  sad  life  of  dreadful  ease, 

Condemned  to  eat  my  bread  in  idleness. 

Here  must  I  lie,  forever  gazing  at  the  dancing  tree-tops 

Which  alone  my  fancy  scales. 

Here  must  I  lie,  forever  listening  to  the  woodman's  greedy 

axe 

Ravishing  the  fair,  green  bodies  of  the  forest. 
Here  must  I  lie,  chained  like  yon  silvering  brook 
When  the  white  curse  of  north  winds  is  upon  it. 
But  see  thee  now,  the  Spring  has  long  since 
Melted  flint-hearted  Winter  to  garrulous  pity; 
And,  in  a  summer  truce,  the  impotent  stream  of  bleak 

December 

Laughs  on  its  rippling  way,  like  pigeons  to  their  homing. 
Tell  me,  kind  mother,  canst  thou  not  give  me  words 
So  fiery  and  burning  that  I  may  pour  them  out  in  hot 

entreaty 

Upon  the  heart  of  God  until  His  anger  soften  ? 
Or  shall  I  woo  the  gentle  Christ  with  sweeter  supplications  ? 
Surely,  He  who  released  the  brook  from  ice-bound  servitude 
Can  set  the  warm  blood  tingling  in  these  limbs  of  mine 
Withered  in  an  untimely  womb. 
Come  gentle  soul,  let  us  together  plead, 
Perhaps  our  stream  of  mingled  prayers  may  overflood  the 

wall 

Reared  by  the  sins  of  an  unworthy  generation 
That,  long  agone,  hath  spawned 
Both  us  and  God's  displeasure! 

[10] 


[!LYA  lifts  bis  hands  palm-upward  toward  heaven , 
bis  mother  kneels  before  him  with  fingers  clasped 
in  prayer.  Tbe  peasants  enter  in  boisterous 
groups.  Some  carry  axes,  some  wooden  rakes, 
some  sickles ;  and  other  evidences  of  harvest-time. 
As  each  group  draws  near  ILYA  and  his  mother 
they  discover  the  prayerful  attitude  of  the  two 
and  instinctively  drop  to  their  knees.  As  the  last 
peasant  assumes  this  attitude  of  reverence,  cer 
tain  of  the  company  break  into  song. 


SONG  OF  THE  PEASANTS 

Here  in  the  golden  hush  of  noon, 
Straight  falls  the  ever-speeding  sun; 

Thus,  Lord,  let  down  Thy  gracious  boon, 
On  each  and  every  sinful  one. 

Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread, 
And  bless  the  fruitage  of  the  field; 

Extend  the  forest's  leafy  spread, 

Increase  the  stream-side's  leaping  yield. 

Clothe  us  in  faith  as  sweetly  green, 

As  thou  hast  clothed  these  fragrant  trees; 

Lead  now  our  steps  in  paths  serene, 
And  grant  all  sorrow  quick  surcease. 

Revive  our  hopes,  destroy  our  fears, 
Bind  up  the  crimson  wounds  of  sin; 

Soften  our  pride  with  chastening  tears, 
That  thy  fair  peace  may  enter  in. 


Make  whole  the  sick,  restore  the  blind. 
Turn  not  from  this  thy  servants  cry; 

Sweet  Christ,  whose  heart  is  ever  kind, 
Pass  not  the  humblest  of  us  by. 

I  LYA  (extending  bis  arms  toward  the  peas 
ants  in  thankful  benediction) 
Sweet  friends,  how  can  I  find  fair  words 
To  thank  you  for  your  supplications  ? 
Surely,  if  what  they  say  is  true, 

This  day  the  throne  of  Heaven,  wearied  by  our  petitions, 
Will,  even  as  the  unjust  judge,  grant  us  our  prayers, 
And  make  us  whole  again  in  body  and  in  spirit. 

[The  company  rise  slowly  and  begin  to  spread  a 

rude  feast  upon  the  grass. 

IVAN  (advancing  toward  I  LYA) 
My  son,  see  what  today  came  to  my  hand 
As  merrily  I  wrought  my  reaping: 
A  lark's  nest  in  the  grassy  thicket 
Filled  to  the  brim  with  wide-mouthed  life ! 
Straightway  I  thought  of  thee, 
And  carried  it  thus  tenderly  in  my  bosom 
For  thy  delight. 

I  LYA 

Ah,  'tis  a  goodly  omen! 
Let  me  but  hold  it  here  close  to  this  coverlet, 
So  to  keep  warm  its  precious  burden. 
And,  when  thou  goest  again  to  thy  gay  reaping, 
Take  it  and  lay  it  gently  where  the  sorrowing  mother 
Broods  songless  at  her  loss. 

For  I,  least  of  all  men,  can  spare  the  care-free  carolings 
Of  these,  our  feathered  friends. 

[12] 


FIRST  PEASANT 

And  I,  this  woodland  flower  of  wondrous  blue,  did  pluck, 
Take  it  and  wear  it  next  thy  heart! 

ILYA 

Not  so!  My  heart  is  sinful,  and  hot  with  a  revolt 
That,  in  a  twinkling,  would  sear  so  frail  a  bloom. 
Rather  let  it  be  sprinkled  with  reviving  dew 
And  kept  beneath  my  gaze. 
Flowers  were  sent  us  for  our  cherishing. 
[He  bands  the  flower  to  MARYA. 

SECOND  PEASANT 

I  set  a  snare  among  the  thorny  bushes  of  the  hills 
For  swift-winged  doves.  But,  in  their  place  this  morn, 
Found  I  this  timorous  mouse  strayed  from  low-lying  plains. 
Perhaps  its  nimble  presence  will  help  more  speedily 
To  pass  the  sullen  hours. 

ILYA 

Give  it  here! 

Poor  little  frightened  thing,  think  you  that  couch-tied  ILYA 
Will  find  his  pleasure  in  a  sorely-caged  companion? 
Nay,  trembling  creature  of  the  fields,  take  freedom 
From  my  hand  and  go  in  peace! 

[He frees  the  mouse,  ^he  -peasants  look  downcast. 

FIRST  PEASANT 
How!  have  our  gifts  so  little  pleased  you? 

ILYA 

Freely  made  gifts  must  be  as  freely  spent 
If  we  would  find  them  sweet. 

Look  not  so  sad  because  my  fancy  plays  the  spendthrift. 
Give  us  a  tune,  good  comrades,  and  let  your  dancing  feet 
Tell  me  that  I  am  rich  in  your  forgiveness! 


IVAN 

The  lad  says  truly. 

FIRST  PEASANT 

Come,  some  music !  We  who  have  feet  for  dancing 
Can  scarce  deny  the  gentle  favor  asked  by  Ilya 
Our  heaven-cursed  companion! 

[A  lively  bustle  ensues.  Some  throw  themselves  upon 
the  grass  and  eaty  others  lift  drinking  jugs  to 
their  lips.  Music  is  played.  A  group  of  peasants 
dance  furiously ',  after  the  manner  of  Little  Rus 
sia,  with  brave  shouts  and  laughter. 

'  O 

PEASANTS  (singing) 

When  the  axe  is  full  of  flashing  laughter, 
Then  the  woodland  trembles  at  its  mirth; 

When  the  axe  is  full  of  flashing  laughter, 
Quickly  fall  the  sobbing  trees  to  earth. 

Watch  the  sickle  like  a  moon  of  silver, 
Moving  in  the  truant  sunlight's  glow; 

Watch  the  sickle  like  a  moon  of  silver, 
Swiftly  lay  the  trembling  grasses  low. 

See  the  little  sun-burnt  leaflets  whirling, 
Bitter  is  the  wind  and  dark  their  flight; 

See  the  little  sun-burnt  leaflets  whirling, 
Like  the  souls  of  children  in  their  flight. 

Now,  my  lady's  feet  are  on  the  greensward, 
Red-tipped  are  her  boots  and  laced  with  blue; 

Now  my  lady's  feet  are  on  the  greensward, 
Tell  me,  is  my  dancing  sweetheart  true. 


When  my  Masha  smiles  at  me  with  lips  so  gay, 
Then  my  feet  go  dancing  all  the  live-long  day. 
Ai,  liuli,  liuli,  liuli, 
Then  my  feet  go  dancing  all  the  live-long  day! 

ILYA 

Well  done!  But  to  watch  your  sunlit  whirlings 
Sets  my  dull  pulses  leaping, 
And  stirs  my  heart  to  a  vain  hope! 

SECOND  PEASANT  (glancing  upward) 
The  hour  of  noon  is  swiftly  waning. 
If  we  would  spend  a  lusty  day  to  the  sun's  red  setting 
We  had  best  claim  our  noon-day  drowse. 

[The  peasants  respond  with  nods  of  approval.  They 
begin  to  yawn  and  stretch. 

IVAN 

Ilya,  lad,  keep  thy  sharp  eye  aloft, 
And  when  the  sun  is  at  its  proper  slanting, 
Call  us  that  we  may  be,  in  perfect  season, 
To  our  appointed  tasks. 

ILYA 
Aye,  father.  I'll  let  no  single  sunbeam  fall  unmeasured. 

[One  by  one  the  peasants  fall  asleep  until  the  only 
wakeful  one  is  ILYA. 

ILYA 

See,  now,  how  graciously  they  sleep, 
Rocked  in  the  rude-hung  cradle  of  toil. 
Would  that  I  might  one  day  drink  as  deep  of  the  oblivion, 
Which  comes  so  swift  upon  the  heels  of  labor. 
But  I  must  be  content  to  lie, 


Wide-eyed  and  pricked  with  bitter  longings. 

Gazing  at  the  clear  blue  of  Heaven, 

That,  had  I  but  the  wings,  would  seem 

No  further  than  a  swallow's  flight! 

[He  falls  back  and  lies  with  arms  outstretched^  gazing 
up  at  the  sky.  'The  sound  of  faint  singing  is  heard 
coming  nearer  and  nearer.  Finally  >  the  figures  of 
three  holy  wayfarers  are  seen  slowly  descending 
the  long  trail. 

SONG  OF  THE  WAYFARERS 
Over  the  hills  and  the  plains, 
Over  the  streams  and  the  sea, 

Come  we  tearfully, 

Come  we  fearfully, 
Foot-sore  and  wearily. 

In  the  hot  sunlight  of  noon, 
In  the  cold  bleakness  of  night, 

With  scarce  a  heeding, 

With  scarce  a  needing, 
Save  for  Our  Lord's  delight. 

Past  the  gray  castles  of  ease, 
Past  the  sad  huts  of  the  poor, 

Unmindful  of  sorrow, 

Unmindful  of  morrow, 
Christ-like  do  we  endure. 

By  the  still  waters  of  peace, 
By  the  loud  surges  of  strife, 

God's  love  adoring, 

God's  love  imploring, 
Seek  we  the  perfect  life. 

fi61 


He  who  revives  us  with  drink, 
He  who  sustains  us  with  bread, 

Lightens  a  dreary  road, 

Lightens  a  sinful  load, 
Blessings  be  on  his  head! 

Over  the  hills  and  the  plains, 
Over  the  streams  and  the  sea, 

Come  we  tearfully, 

Come  we  fearfully, 
Foot-sore  and  wearily. 

\Atfirst  ILYA  remains  inactive ',  but,  as  the  strains  come 
nearer  he  rouses  himself ,  watching  in  silent  curi 
osity  the  wayfarers  as  they  make  their  way  toward 
the  center  of  the  stage. 

FIRST  WAYFARER 
Quickly  .  .  .  some  water  ...  I  faint! 

SECOND  WAYFARER 
Courage,  brother! 

My  senses  tell  me  that  we  have  drawn  near  a  humble  habi 
tation. 
The  poor  are  ever  gracious  and  pitiful. 

THIRD  WAYFARER  (turning  about  and 
catching  sight  of  ILYA) 

How  now,  lad?  Must  thou  lie  thus  in  swaddled  ease, 
While  poor,  spent  pilgrims  swoon  before  thy  slumbering 

threshold? 

Some  water!  In  all  haste  and  charity  come  quickly, 
Lest  we  die! 

[171 


ILYA  (pointing  to  the  jug  upon  the  table) 
Gentle  and  holy  men,  drink  ye  your  fill! 
Yon  jug  is  moist  to  overflowing. 

THIRD  WAYFARER 

Bring  it  to  us,  thou  slothful  and  unmannerly  youth! 
Canst  thou  not  see  that  we  are  all  three 
Wearied  and  foot-sore  almost  to  our  death? 

ILYA 
Pitiful  strangers,  how  canst  thou  think  so  ill  of  this  thy 

helpless  servant? 
Gladly  would  I  run  tripping  to  thy  call,  had  not  just  God 

Himself, 
Set  the  dull  curse  of  withered  limbs  upon  me. 

THIRD  WAYFARER  (lifting  bis  right  arm 

aloft) 
Ilya,  son  of  Ivan,  rise  and  give  us  drink! 

ILYA  (struggling painfully) 
Holy  Brothers,  I  cannot! 

SECOND  WAYFARER 
Ilya,  son  of  Ivan,  rise  and  give  us  drink! 

ILYA  (struggling  and  raising  himself  a 

trifle) 
Sweet  friends  in  Christ,  thou  doth  almost  persuade  me. 

FIRST  WAYFARER 
Ilya,  son  of  Ivan,  rise  and  give  us  drink! 

[18] 


ILYA  (throwing  himself  with  a  mighty  ef 
fort  from  his  couch  and  standing  sud 
denly  erect) 

Pitiful  Heaven,  do  I  but  dream  ? 
Or  do  my  feet  at  last  touch  the  moist  Mother  Earth? 
Wake  me  not,  I  pray  thee,  if  my  senses  have  so  sweetly 

wandered, 
But  let  me  rather  flee  the  body  thus  in  trembling  joy! 

THIRD  WAYFARER 

How  now?  .  .  .  Hast  thou  so  soon  forgotten? 
Water!  Art  thou  still  unmindful  of  our  need? 

[!LYA  gazes  at  the  wayfarers  in  silent  wonderment l,  then 
very  slowly  and  cautiously  he  moves  toward  the 
table.  Lifting  the  jug  he  pours  a  draught  into  an 
earthern  cup  and,  carrying  it  between  his  palms, 
he  walks  over  to  the  wayfarers.  He  falls  on  his 
knees,  offering  them  the  cup.  'They  each  in  their 
turn  receive  it. 

FIRST  WAYFARER 
Drink  ye  also,  Ilya,  son  of  weakness ! 

[!LYA  receives  the  cup  and  drinks. 

SECOND  WAYFARER 
Ilya,  son  of  sudden  hope,  how  is  it  now  with  thy  strength? 

ILYA  (stretching  and  opening  his  arms 

with  newfound  power) 

I  thank  thee  with  reverence,  venerable  fathers, 
My  strength  is  now  such  as  could  surely  move  the  earth! 

THIRD  WAYFARER 

Give  us  to  drink  once  more. 

[!LYA  hands  them  the  cup. 

[19] 


FIRST  WAYFARER 

Drink  again  in  thy  turn,  Ilya,  son  of  great  power! 
[!LYA  drinks. 

THIRD  WAYFARER 
Ilya,  son  of  holy  might,  how  is  it  now  with  thy  strength? 

ILYA 

I  thank  thee  gratefully,  pious  brothers, 
My  strength  is  only  half  as  wondrous  as  before. 

FIRST  WAYFARER 
Tiswell! 

If  it  were  greater  then  this  moist  Mother  Earth 
Being  too  frail,  would  bend  beneath  thy  weight! 

[!LYA  leaps  to  his  feet  with  sudden  ecstacy,  and,  seiz 
ing  an  axe,  begins  to  strike  right  and  left  at  some 
saplings  bringing  them  down  with  a  crash. 

ILYA 

Father  .  .  .  mother  .  .  .  comrades! 
Awake !  Awake !  Awake! 
Throw  off  your  heavy  slumber, 
And  see  what  miracle  has  by  these  holy  men, 
In  God's  sweet  name,  been  wrought! 

[The  peasants  start  up  in  great  confusion.  ILYA, 
swinging  his  axe  aloft,  brings  it  crashing  down 
into  a  stump. 

IVAN 

The  good  Lord  save  my  senses !  Have  I  gone  suddenly  mad  ? 
Or  is  this,  then,  indeed  my  ill-begotten  son, 
Who,  but  an  hour  agone,  lay  like  a  wingless  fledgling 
Deserted  by  the  flying  brood? 

[20] 


Come,  little  mother,  tell  me,  is  thy  sight  also 

Tricked  into  vain  imaginings? 

[MARYA,  shrinking  into  IVAN'S  encircling  arm,  nods 
her  answer.  T'he  two,  in  wonderment,  draw  near 
their  son,  feeling  his  arms,  his  face,  his  hair. 
The  peasants  do  likewise. 

FIRST  PEASANT  (seeking  to  dislodge  the 

axe  that  ILYA  left  in  the  stump) 
Saint  Basil  and  all  his  followers  preserve  us! 
This  strong-armed  son  of  fury  has  lodged  the  axe 
Past  all  hope  of  recovery! 

[IvAN  and  the  SECOND  PEASANT  try  their  hands  at 
the  axe  also,  without  avail.  ILYA,  throwing  his 
head  back  with  a  smile,  pushes  the  peasants  aside 
and  draws  the  axe  from  the  stump. 

IVAN  (lifting  his  eyes  toward  heaven) 
Now,  then,  gracious  Father,  give  ear  to  the  poor  thanks 
Falling  thus  humbly  from  the  lips  of  thy  unworthy  servant. 
For  this,  my  son,  who  was  in  bondage  held,  is  freed  again ! 
For  this,  my  son,  who  was  laid  low,  is  raised  aloft ! 

[I VAN  steps  forward,  enfolds  ILYA  in  his  arms,  and 
kisses  him  upon  either  cheek.  MARYA  follows. 

ILYA 

Look  not  so  sad,  good  comrades !  This  is  a  time  for  laughter! 
See  how  I  leap  and  click  my  anxious  heels  together. 
Do  we  lack  music  or  has  my  sudden  fortune 
Forever  stilled  your  dancing  feet? 

[At  this  hint  the  music  starts  up  the  same  merry  tune 
that  was  played  when  the  peasants  danced  for 
ILYA'S  delight.  At  its  sound  the  peasants  form  a 

[21] 


circle  about  ILYA  and  swing  into  a  spirited 
measure  as  be  stands  in  the  center  capering  to 
the  music.  IVAN,  urged  in  pantomime  by  the 
anxious  mother^  breaks  through  the  circle  and 
drags  the  reluctant  ILYA  aside. 

IVAN 

Softly,  my  lusty  son !  Thy  mother 
Is  not  yet  fully  won  to  thy  swift-winged  recovery. 
Stands  she  aside  with  anxious  heart, 
Counselling  a  greater  prudence. 
There  will  be  time  enough  for  mirth  and  dancing 
After  the  burden  of  both  field  and  forest 
Hath  by  thy  might  been  tested. 

ILYA   {standing  between  his  father  and 

mother  with  an  arm  encircling  each) 
Good  sire  and  patient  mother,  forgive  my  foolish  joy! 
Hadst  thou  but  known  the  sweet  taste  of  deliverance, 
Thy  fond  indulgence  would  bear  with  me. 
But  thou  sayest  truly,  too  long  have  I  been  fed  by  pitiful 

bounty. 

The  sun  is  slanting  to  its  slow-measured  wane; 
Give  me  yon  axe  and  let  me  try  my  fortune 
Side  by  side  with  these  fair  friends, 
Who  have,  in  days  gone  by,  helped  me 
With  song  and  dance  and  jest 
To  pass  the  loathsome  hours. 

Or  if  the  reaping  of  the  meadow  suits  best  thy  purpose, 
Put  in  my  hand  a  shining  sickle, 
And  I  shall  prove  my  worth,  and  so  requite  thee  all. 

[During  this  speech  the  wayfarers  who  have  stood 
silent  and  forgotten  begin  to  recover  interest  in 
the  proceedings.  At  the  conclusion  of  ILYA'S 

[aa] 


words  they  push  their  way  toward  the  center 
of  tbe  stage,  with  their  right  arms  uplifted. 

THIRD  WAYFARER 

Ilya,  son  of  Ivan,  spend  not  thy  strength  upon  the  forest 
Nor  put  the  might  of  thy  right  arm  to  either  plow  or  scythe. 

SECOND  WAYFARER 

But  set  thee  out  this  day  upon  the  business  of  thy  Father 
who  is  in  Heaven, 

For  He  hath  graciously  raised  thee  up  to  be  a  light  shining 
in  the  darkness. 

For  he  hath  redeemed  thee  from  weakness  to  be  a  sure  de 
fense  for  them  that  are  beset. 

FIRST  WAYFARER 

Gird  up  thy  loins  and  get  thee  speedily  to  the  Holy  City, 

And,  in  its  gilded  Sanctuary,  offer  thyself  up  a  stainless 
sacrifice, 

That  God  may  consecrate  thee  in  graciousness  to  snow- 
white  deeds 

Fit  to  release  the  world  from  its  sad  thrall. 

Tarry  not  an  instant  on  thy  way. 

For  the  road  is  long  and  the  journey  filled  with  weariness, 

And  there  is  none  save  thee  strengthened  for  the  task. 

Keep  thy  heart  clean  and  trust  not  to  the  wiles  of  women; 

For  in  the  kisses  of  their  mouths  is  destruction, 

And  from  their  couches  rise  tribulation  and  sorrow. 

Do  but  keep  this  commandment  and  thou  shalt  be  con 
founded  by  nothing: 

Neither  by  the  hordes  of  infidels  upon  the  plains 

Nor  the  companies  of  robbers  that  lie  in  wait  upon  the  hill 
tops. 


The  foaming  river  bordering  the  Black  Morass  shall  not 

affright  thee, 
Nor  shall  the  bird-demons  of  the  forest  find  aught  in  thee 

but  might  for  their  destruction. 
But  take  you  good  heed  of  Nightingale,  the  Robber, 
Whose  nest  is  raised  among  the  seven  highest  tree-tops 
And  whose  sons  and  daughters  sharpen  their  talons 
Wherewith  to  pluck  out  the  eyes  of  them  that  God  hath 

favored. 
Through  thee  shall  all  fear  be  laid  low;  and  by  thy  strength 

shall  all  sorrow  and  strife  be  ended. 
Keep  thou  but  in  the  path  of  righteousness  and  speedily 

will  joy  and  fellow-ship  be  brought  to  fruit. 
But  fail  thee  in  purity  but  one  hair's-breadth 
And  who  shall  say  how  long  the  Lord,  in  His  just  anger, 
Will  keep  thy  weak  feet  wandering  in  the  soft  paths  of  sin, 
Until  his  heart  be  melted. 
Ilya,  son  of  Ivan,  farewell! 

Take  neither  scrip|nor  cloak  nor  loaves  upon  thy  journey, 
But  wear  this  golden  cross  ever  about  thy  neck, 
And  all  things  shall  be  added  to  thy  store. 

[The  FIRST  WAYFARER  slips  the  golden  cross  from  his 
shoulders  and  places  it  about  ILYA'S  neck.  He 
salutes  him  with  a  kiss  upon  the  forehead.  ILYA 
kneels  before  him. 

IVAN  (clasping  his  wife  in  his  arms) 

The  Lord  hath  given  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away, 
Good  mother,  grant  that  we  may  be  faithful,  even  unto 
sorrow ! 

[The  wayfarers  begin  their  departure,  singing.  As  they 
climb  the  hill  the  peasants  kneel,  grouped  about 
ILYA. 


SONG  OF  THE  WAYFARERS 

Over  the  hills  and  the  plains, 
Over  the  streams  and  the  sea, 

Go  we  carefully, 

Go  we  prayerfull  y, 
Wandering  pilgrims  three. 

Bearing  a  message  of  hope, 
Bearing  a  message  of  joy, 

From  the  appointed  one, 

From  the  anointed  one, 
Who  shall  all  care  destroy. 

God  who  is  patient  and  kind, 
God  who  is  loving  and  strong, 

Sends  thee  a  spotless  youth, 

Sends  thee  a  shining  truth, 
Watch  for  the  night  is  long! 

Over  the  hills  and  the  plains, 
Over  the  streams  and  the  sea, 

Praising  the  Holy  One, 

Praising  His  gracious  Son, 
Praising  the  Blessed  Three. 

[As  the  wayfarers  disappear,  ILYA  rises  to  his  feet 
and  begins  to  ascend  the  hill.  His  mother  rushes 

o 

forward  and  attempts  to  dissuade  him  but  IVAN 
gains  his  side  and  together  the  three  make  their 
way  until  half  the  hillside  is  gained.  At  this  point 
ILYA  gives  bis  parents  a  last  embrace.  He  then 
lifts  aloft  the  cross  hanging  about  his  neck  and  his 
mother  and  father  drop  on  their  knees.  The  peas 
ants ',  still  kneeling,  sing. 

[251 


SONG  OF  THE  PEASANTS 

Speed  now  thy  servant  on  his  way, 
Armed  with  the  weapons  of  thy  might; 

Be  Thou  his  shining  cloud  by  day 
And  guiding  shaft  of  fire  by  night. 

Keep  his  swift  feet  within  the  path 
Trod  by  Thy  gracious  saints  above, 

Lay  not  on  him  Thy  chastening  wrath 
But  fold  him  gently  in  Thy  love. 

Until  at  last  his  journey  done, 
Exalted  may  he  ever  rest, 

The  good  fight  fought,  the  swift  race  won, 

Among  the  company  of  the  blest. 
[The  FIRST  PEASANT  rushes  up  the  hillside  and 
•places  a  cap  upon  ILYA'S  head.  The  SECOND 
PEASANT  follows  swiftly  and  puts  a  pilgrim  s 
staff  in  his  hand.  The  far-away  echo  of  the  way 
farers'  chorus  comes  to  ILYA'S  ears.  He  embraces 
his  friends  and  begins  to  climb  the  hillside. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

At  the  foot  of  a  mountain  path  on  the  Way  to  the  Holy 
City.  'The  entrance  to  a  castle  looms  vaguely  in  the  light  of 
flickering  torches. 

[NIGHTINGALE,  the  Robber^  flies  out  of  the  gloom, 
breaking  the  woodland  silence  with  devilish 
laughter. 

NIGHTINGALE 
The  night  is  swooning  fast, 
Its  pallid  fate  forecast, 

As  hushed  it  cowers. 
Blackness  foretells  its  doom, 
Woven  upon  the  loom 

Of  ever-darkening  hours. 

Now  through  this  sullen  glade 
The  moon's  cold  glances  fade, 

And  all  intent 
Upon  the  wolf's  drear  howl, 
Answers  the  twittering  owl, 

In  soft  lament. 

List  to  the  amorous  toads, 
Lilting  their  croaking  odes, 

Hard  by  the  rim 
Of  lily-petaled  ponds, 
Ringed  by  unfolding  fronds, 

Fern-green  and  dim. 

[27] 


This  is  the  time  for  deeds, 
Foul  as  the  slimy  weeds, 

Plucked  from  a  pool 
By  noisesome  drippings  fed, 
And  stinking  waters  bred, 

Soft-choked  with  drool. 

Come  now  my  sharp-clawed  flock, 

Thy  chest  of  dreams  unlock, 
Loosening  thy  spell; 

Break  down  Sleep's  flimsy  gate 

With  bludgeonings  of  hate, 

And  unbind  Hell! 

[NIGHTINGALE'S  call  is  answered  by  shrill  cries  from 
his  brood,  who  dart  out  of  the  gloom  and  with 
outstretched  wings  come  gliding  down  the  trail. 
NIGHTINGALE  stands  in  the  center  of  the  stage, 
filling  the  night  with  horrible  laughter  as  his 
brood  execute  a  brief  pantomimic  dance.  At  the 
height  of  this  orgy  the  door  of  the  castle  is  thrown 
open  and  the  figure  of  ZLATIGORKA  emerges, 
followed  by  two  attendants  with  flaming  torches. 
NIGHTINGALE  gives  the  signal  for  the  birds  to  dis 
perse.  They  flee  up-stage  and  cower,  listening 
in  the  dimness.  NIGHTINGALE,  himself,  slinks 
into  a  shadowy  corner  and  watches. 

ZLATIGORKA  (to  her  attendants) 
Lift  higher  thy  torches! 

The  venom-tongued  cries  of  Hell  come  not  from  shadows ! 

I  would  seek  out  these  gaudy-voiced  revelers, 

Who  suit  my  purpose  and  my  mood  in  such  shrill  fashion. 

{As  the  attendants  do   her  bidding,   NIGHTINGALE 

comes  slinking  out  of  the  gloom,  fawningupon  her. 

[28] 


Ah,  Nightingale,  them  arrant  robber, 

So  'tis  thou  who  seeks  to  thus  beguile  my  casement 

With  sharp-toothed  serenades!  Come  closer,  fear  me  not; 

Silence  has  pricked  me  deep  with  her  cold  fangs, 

And  tonight,  thy  throaty  clamor  drips  like  a  stinging  balm 

Upon  my  wounds.  Tell  me,  was  the  moon  blood-red  with 


. 

Or  hid  she  sullen  and  disdainful,  at  her  rising, 

Behind  a  smoke-dun  cloud? 

For  I  am  gorged  with  bitter  unquiet, 

And  sharp  forebodings  gnaw  my  vitals. 

The  sky  must  be  thick-starred  with  flaming  portents 

Upon  a  night  that  brews  so  strong  a  draught  of  wakeful- 

ness 
For  my  sleep-greedy  lips  ! 

NIGHTINGALE 
Why  seek  from  me  a  sign,  thou  mighty  and  unvanquished 

warrior-queen  ? 

Hast  thou  no  spells  with  which  to  snare 
The  future's  red-fanged  secrets  ? 
Where  is  the  boasted  and  silver-shining  shield 
That  once  did  fend  thy  brave  though  mortal  father? 
Many  a  time  saw  I  thy  socerous  mother 
Lifting  a  torch  above  its  brazen  depths 
At  the  dark  hour  before  dawning; 
And  like  a  garrulous  mirror  its  polished  surface 
Yielded  the  hidden  purposes  of  Fate. 

ZLATIGORKA 

Thou  dost  but  mock  me  with  thine  accursed  truths! 
This  shield  have  I  unfearsomely  consulted 
For  weal  or  woe  that  must  on  others  fall; 
But  I  would,  as  lief,  sever  a  crushed  and  dripping  limb 


From  my  fair  body,  as  gaze  with  mine  own  eyes 
Unscreened  upon  the  scurvy  tricks  that  Fate  hath  stored 
Against  my  deep  content. 

NIGHTINGALE 
Ha,   Powerful   Zlatigorka!   Where   now   is    thy   prideful 

strength? 

Art  thou  indeed  strong  in  arm  only,  but  in  thy  spirit 
As  timorous  as  a  twittering  sparrow? 
Hast  thou  not  learned  that  Fate  hath  chains 
Only  for  the  binding  of  them  that  fear  her? 
Bring  forth  thy  father's  shield  and  let  me  read  the  tale 
That  runs  within  the  shining  depths.  And  if  it  be  too 

horrid, 
I'll  veil  its  ugliness  in  silken  falsehoods. 

ZLATIGORKA   (pacing  restlessly  up  and 

down  in  indecision) 

Nightingale,  art  thou  indeed  a  friendly  knave, 
Or  dost  thou  plot  to  rob  me  of  courage  and  my  high  estate 
In  one  swift  darting? 

NIGHTINGALE  (fawning  before  her) 
Do  humming-birds  plot  to  overthrow  the  eagle's 
Sky-blue  empire?  And  is  the  bear's  snug  pit 
Threatened  by  the  assaults  of  nibbling  hares? 
Deny  my  friendship  if  thou  wilt  but  grant  to  me,  at  least, 
The  soft-armed  virtue  of  prudence. 

ZLATIGORKA 

The  dripping  honey  of  thy  words  doth  almost  lure  me  to 
thy  purpose. 

[She  paces  about  in  further  indecision. 
Well,  as  thou  wilt! 

[30] 


[To  the  attendants. 

Bring  forth  my  father's  valorous  shield, 
And  let  misfortune's  messenger  run  swiftly  to  his  journey's 
end! 

[One  of  the  attendants  hands  his  torch  to  the  other  and 
goes  into  the  castle  upon  ZLATIGORKA'S  errand. 
The  enchantress  stands  in  deep  dejection  but 
NIGHTINGALE  can  scarcely  conceal  his  satisfac 
tion.  The  attendant  returns  bearing  the  shield. 
At  his  entrance  the  brood  of  NIGHTINGALE  who 
have  been  lurking  in  the  shadows  creep  cautiously 
upon  the  upper  stage  and  stand  in  close-locked 
groups,  peering  down.  As  the  attendant  passes 
ZLATIGORKA  with  shield  up-borne,  she  shrinks 
behind  her  own  shield  as  if  fearful  to  catch  even  a 
brief  glimpse  of  its  telltale  depths.  NIGHTINGALE 
motions  the  first  attendant  to  set  the  shield  upon 
the  ground.  The  second  attendant  steps  forward 
and  returns  the  torch  to  his  companion.  These  two 
range  themselves  on  either  side  of  the  shield,  hold 
ing  the  torches  directly  over  it.  NIGHTINGALE 
stoops  between  them,  peering  down  into  its 
polished  surface.  ZLATIGORKA  stands  expectantly 
but  with  averted  face. 


NIGHTINGALE 

Now  Fate  doth  spin  her  net 
Misfortune's  snare  to  set 

With  threads  of  chance; 
And  in  this  shining  shield 
Her  hidden  secrets  yield 

To  my  keen  glance. 


Within  the  brazen  rim 
Flashes  in  outlines  dim 

A  form,  swift-paced; 
Valiant  and  undefiled, 
Comely  but  unbeguiled, 

Thick-loined  yet  chaste! 

Into  this  leafy  bower 

Strays  he  with  righteous  power, 

Unchained  by  sins; 
Hung  not  with  sword  nor  spear, 
Yet  knowing  naught  of  fear 

His  mate  he  wins! 

ZLATIGORKA  (with  a  confident  laugh} 
Tell  me,  is  this  the  dribbling  yield  of  prophesy 
From  so  prodigal  a  sowing?  The  figure  of  thy  visioning 
Smells  more  to  me  of  dung-hill  than  of  battle-sweat! 

[Musingly. 
Hung  not  with  sword  nor  spear! 

Ni GHTI N G A  L  E  ( interrupting} 
Yet  knowing  naught  otfear! 

ZLATIGORKA  (impatiently) 
Think  thou  our  woodland  fastness 
Is  to  be  made  the  sport  of  fools? 
Ignorance  and  courage  doth  ever  couch  together. 
Thou  knowst  well  it  is  decreed  that  I  shall  be  invincible 
Save  to  that  warrior  who  can  in  fair-won  fight 
Subdue  me  to  his  rough-shod  will,  melting  my  steel-cold 

chastity 

Within  the  red  flame  of  his  yearning. 
Look  ye  again  and  seek  a  further  sign 
With  which  to  match  such  valiant  prophesies! 


NIGHTINGALE   (bending  over  the  shield 

again) 

With  measured  tread  and  slow, 
Vague  phantom-figures  grow 

In  endless  chain. 
By  tear-crowned  sorrow  led, 
Soft  to  the  marriage-bed 
Of  Death,  glides  pain. 

Struck  by  the  torches*  beam, 
A  shaft  of  golden  gleam, 

Untouched  by  dross, 
Rises  to  meet  my  gaze 
As  with  profane  amaze 

I  glimpse  the  Cross ! 

[At  the  mention  of  the  Holy  Symbol  the  torches  are 
mysteriously  extinguished  and  Nightingale* s 
brood  fall  terror-stricken  on  their  faces.  ZLATI- 
GORKA  shrinks  again  behind  her  up-raised  shield. 

NIGHTINGALE  (gliding  to  ZLATIGORKA'S 

side] 

Didst  thou  find  this  last  visioning  to  thy  taste? 
Or  shall  we  light  the  Heaven-blown  torches  once  again 
And  tempt  Fate's  ugly  purpose  further? 

ZLATIGORKA 
The  Cross! 
Tis  strong  enough  in  sooth!  .  .  .  What's  to  be  done? 

NIGHTINGALE  (mockingly) 
What's  to  be  done! 

Do  my  ears  play  me  false,  or  is  this  then  indeed 
The  skimming  eaglet  of  the  ice-carved  pinnacles 

[331 


Seeking  the  favor  of  a  thicket  nestling? 

Thou  art  proud,  with  reason,  Warrior-Queen, 

But,  until  this  night,  thou  rose  disdainful 

And  self-sufficient  in  thy  power. 

Not  so  thy  socerous  mother.  With  all  her  skill, 

Bound  she  the  loyalty  of  her  woodland  friends 

With  the  swift  thongs  of  service. 

He  who  stands  singly  stands  on  scant  ground! 

Tis  well,  I  bend  my  neck  to  thy  commands. 

Grant  me  the  single  boon  of  charmed  life 

And  I  shall  ever  do  thy  bidding! 

ZLATIGORKA    (lifting    her    shield   above 
NIGHTINGALE'S    prostrate    body    and 
placing  her  foot  upon  his  neck) 
So  long  as  I,  myself,  shall  life  endure 
Thou  shalt  by  neither  dart  nor  ill  be  slain! 

NIGHTINGALE  (leaping  to  bis  feet) 

Now  shall  I  be  immortal!  For  we  twain 

Casting  our  lots  together  can,  like  a  yelping  wolf-pack, 

Keep  Death  at  bay  and  scorn  the  very  Gilded  Cross,  itself! 

Advance,  my  thick-spurred  brood,  and  bow  thyself 

Before  this  dual  throne  of  power! 

[At  NIGHTINGALE'S  command  bis  brood  flutter  down 
the  hillside  and  prostrate  themselves  before  ZLATI 
GORKA  and  NIGHTINGALE.  Safe  in  the  assurance 
of  a  charmed  life,  NIGHTINGALE  has  lost  his 
fawning  manner  and  stands  erect  and  imperious. 

ZLATIGORKA 
What  sound  was  that, 
A  woodland  whisper  fluttering  from  top-most  branch, 

[34] 


Or  hath  the  wind  plucked  from  its  place  a  dew-starred 

cob-web 
And  dashed  it  free  of  its  filched  jewels  against  some  gaunt 

and  naked  twig? 

NIGHTINGALE  (putting  a  hand  to  his  ear) 
I  hear  the  muffled  beat 
And  glide  of  swift-sure  feet 
Sifting  adown  the  gloom; 
Let  us  in  purple  shade 
Go  creeping  undismayed 

Plotting  pale  virtue's  doom ! 
[70  ZLATIGORKA 

From  thy  sword-latticed  bower, 
Watch  thou  in  brooding  power 

The  coming  morn. 
By  powers  low  or  high 
On  earth  will  Heaven  die 

Or  Hell  be  born! 

\The  brood  melt  up-stage  into  the  shadows  where  they 
can  be  dimly  seen.  ZLATIGORKA  enters  the  castle^ 
followed  by  her  attendants  who  close  the  door. 
NIGHTINGALE  slinks  into  the  gloom  and>  crouch 
ing^  waits  for  the  coming  of  the  traveler  whose 
foot-falls  have  so  disturbed  them.  ILYA  enters 
confidently  and  peering  about  the  gloom  catches 
sight  of  the  castle. 

ILYA  (starting  toward  the  flaming  torches 

before  the  castle's  entrance) 

What  beacon-lights  are  these  starring  the  pall-hung  night? 
Are  they  friendly  eyes  winking  me  to  gracious  shelter, 
Or  do  they  glare  in  somber  anger  like  prowling  beasts  of 
prey? 

[35] 


[He  advances  almost  to  the  castle  door. 
A  goodly  portal!  yet  it  frowns  with  close-locked  mouth. 
A  moment  since  and  weariness  was  stranger  to  me, 
But  here,  within  a  short-paced  stride  of  entertainment, 
Sleep  weights  my  dust-stung  lids. 
Aye,  now  I  know  the  sweet  content  of  a  sweat-wrung 

repose ! 

I'll  beat  upon  the  door  and  see  if  honest  needs 
Can  set  this  threshold  smiling  out  a  welcome. 

[He  beats  upon  the  door  with  bis  pilgrim  s  staff.  The 
door  opens  slowly  and  ZLATIGORKA,  unattended^ 
steps  out  into  the  night. 

ZLATIGORKA  (haughtily) 
Whence  comes  this  cloutish  clamor, 

Breaking  the  virgin  stillness  of  these  woods  in  noisy  rav 
ishment? 

Thou  vile-coated  varlet,  tell  me  thy  name, 
And,  as  well,  the  fly-blown  dung-hill  which  bred  thee! 

ILYA  (proudly] 

Ilya  is  my  name.  And  my  good  sire  and  mother 
With  honorable  labor  do  reap  their  fields  and  fell  their  trees 
Within  the  sweet-strewn  forest  of  Murom. 

ZLATIGORKA  (in  a  rage) 
What!  Can  I  have  heard  aright? 
Hath  this  world  waxed  so  mean  that  I,  the  far-famed 

Zlatigorka, 
Warrior-Queen    and    dark    Enchantress,    must    find    my 

dream-decked  slumbers 

Rent  in  twain  by  the  thick-fingered  brutishness 
Of  lumbering  peasant-breed? 

[36] 


Come  closer,  thou  reckless  fool,  and  tell  me,  if  thou  canst, 
What  punishment  I  may  devise  for  thy  undoing. 

[!LYA  draws  close  to  ZLATIGORKA,  half  shyly ,  half 
boldly.  As  he  catches  a  near-mew  of  her  face  he 
starts  back  a  trifle  and  then^  with  an  impetuous 
movement  forward,  he  answers. 

ILYA 

If 't  were  punishment  to  serve  thee,  beauteous  creature, 
Forge  me  thick  chains  of  mighty  tasks  and  I  shall  languish 

happily 
In  harsh  imprisonment  forever! 

ZLATIGORKA 

Ye  friends !  What  next  will  my  thrice-doubting  ears  report  ? 
Art  thou  gone  suddenly  mad? 

ILYA 

Mad?  .  .  .  Thou  sayest  truly! 

Give  me  thy  lips  and  take  whatever  wage  thy  fancy  fas 
hions  ! 

ZLATIGORKA 

My  lips!  Thou  swine!  Thou  sweat-stale  plough-boy! 
Know  thou  not  that  my  fierce  favors 
Are  to  the  mightiest  warriors  themselves  denied? 
Lives  there  no  man  within  a  six-months'  journey 
Who  can  with  sword  or  lance  wrest  from  me 
My  virgin   hoard!   Invincible   throughout   the  countless 

years, 

I  wait  the  doom  of  spear-won  mating! 
Think  thou  then,  that  what  the  gods  themselves 
Find  from  their  strong-armed  reach, 
Will  fall  a  worm-cursed  apple  into  thy  loutish  hands? 

[371 


ILYA 

How  I  shall  come  by  thy  sweet  gifts  I  care  not! 
Only  this  I  know,  I  have  the  strength  to  hurl 
The  mightiest  of  these  forest  giants  to  sprawling  length 
Upon  the  mouldering  sward. 

If  'tis  thy  purpose  then  to  wield  thy  spear  against  me 
And  play  the  warrior,  lay  on,  and  let  Heaven  itself 
Proclaim  the  victor! 

ZLATIGORKA 

Rash  youth,  rush  not  so  speedily  to  thy  doom ! 
If  thy  scant  brains  have  by  wan-moonlit  wanderings  been 

addled, 

I'll  let  thee  go  in  peace. 

I  am  no  petty  princess,  seeking  to  entrap  a  puling  fool. 
Think  thou  that  I  would  match  this  spear 
Against  a  path-worn  pilgrim's  staff? 

ILYA  (mockingly} 

What!  art  thou  cowed  down  already  by  my  boasts? 
Lift  high  thy  shining  spear  and  let  me  prove 
The  warrior  blood  which  pricks  my  veins  so  hotly! 

\As  ILYA  finishes  his  speech ,  be  provokes  the  reluctant 
ZLATIGORKA  to  battle  with  a  sharp  blow  struck 
by  his  pilgrim  s  staff  against  her  spear.  They 
fight  furiously.  Meanwhile,  with  a  malignant 
laugh,  NIGHTINGALE  rushes  from  the  shadows 
and  attempts  to  harrass  ILYA.  His  efforts  are 
unavailing  for,  finally,  ILYA  gets  the  upper  hand 
of  the  enchantress.  He  strikes  her  spear  to  the 
ground  with  his  staff,  and  rushing  upon  her, 
grasps  her  in  his  two  strong  hands  and  brings 
her  to  her  feet. 

[38] 


ILYA 
Gracious  Queen,  what  would  you  now? 

ZLATIGORKA  (adoringly) 

Naught  but  thy  pleasure, 

Thou  beetle-browed  and  ripe-lipped  youth ! 

NIGHTINGALE 

Ye  fiends  of  Hell! 

What  net  is  this  spread  for  our  snaring? 

[70  his  brood. 

Rise  up,  thou  sharp  of  beak, 
Thy  spur-keen  vengeance  reek 

Upon  yon  guileless  fool ! 
With  claw  and  swift-winged  dart 
Pluck  eyes  and  bathe  his  heart 
In  blood-red  pool! 

\The  brood  rush  down,  and,  led  by  NIGHTINGALE,  pro 
ceed  to  attack  ILYA.  ZLATIGORKA,  recovering  her 
self,  turns  upon  her  protectors.  Finally,  worsted, 
the  brood  flutter  up  the  hillside.  NIGHTINGALE 
flies  helplessly  about  pursued  by  ILYA,  who 
brandishes  his  staff. 

NIGHTINGALE 
Help,  traitorous  Queen!  Remember  thou  our  pact! 

[!LYA  is  in  the  act  of  bringing  down  his  staff  upon  the 
head  of  NIGHTINGALE  when  ZLATIGORKA  puts 
forth  a  staying  hand  upraised  as  she  chants  a 
spell. 

ZLATIGORKA 

With  my  hand  thus  raised  full  well 
Cast  I  now  my  sorcerous  spell 

[39] 


While  I  live  thou  may  not  die 

Though  I  would  thy  boon  deny! 

[ILYA'S  arm  stiffens  and  the  staff  falls  from  his  hand. 
With  an  exultant  shout  NIGHTINGALE  prepares 
to  flee.  ZLATIGORKA  again  stretches  forth  her 
hand. 

ZLATIGORKA 

Gloom-bred  robber,  stay  thy  flight, 
I  shall  clip  thy  sharp-clawed  might, 

Bind  thee  harmless  as  a  dove 

In  the  gilded  chains  of  love! 

[NIGHTINGALE/;?//.?  suddenly  forward  on  his  face. 

ZLATIGORKA  (calling  in  a  loud  voice) 
What  ho  there,  my  minions! 

[The  attendants  appear  at  the  door  of  the  castle. 
Bring  forth  my  father's  shining  shield, 
His  two-edged  sword,  his  plumed  helmet 
And  the  blue  cloak  with  ermine  rimmed. 

[The  attendants  depart. 

For  this,  my  vanquisher,  must  be  in  worthy  state 
Armed  and  apparelled  as  befits  his  might! 

[The  attendants  return  and  ZLATIGORKA  invests  ILYA 

with  helmet,  shield^  cloak  and  sword. 
Now  art  thou  indeed  a  prince! 

Ilya,  plough-boy  no  longer,  but  Ilya,  the  valiant  Cossack, 
Who  hath  dethroned  with  ease  a  virgin  Queen! 
Never  in  battle  shalt  thou  die, 
For  he  who  girds  himself 
With  this  two-edged  and  magic  sword, 
Shall  conquer  all! 

[40] 


[She  turns  to  tbe  attendants  again. 
Search  ye  the  dungeon  for  strong-linked  chains, 
And  bring  them  to  me! 

NIGHTINGALE  (lying  inert) 

Have  a  care,  thou  spawn  of  loathing  and  deceit! 
Remember  I  have  still  my  thoughts,  and  can  with  evil 
Breed  swamp-sour  ills  that  yet  will  spell  thy  doom. 

[Tbe  attendants  appear;  ZLATIGORKA  takes  tbe  chains 
from  tbem  and  slips  tbe  shining  links  belt-wise 
about  NIGHTINGALE'S  middle.  Then  she  drags 
him  to  the  spot  where  ILYA  stands  in  new-found 
arrogance. 

ZLATIGORKA 

Sweet  Prince,  here  helpless  lies  thy  fluttering  foe! 
Bind  him  where  and  by  what  means  thou  wilt, 
And,  when  thou  look  upon  him,  think  that  thus  enslaved 
Doth  my  fond  heart  lie  prone  beneath  thy  red-lipped  smile! 
[!LYA  takes  the  tether  and  spear  from  ZLATIGORKA. 
He  leads  NIGHTINGALE  to  tbe  upper  stage,  and, 
thrusting  tbe  spear  in  tbe  ground,  tethers  NIGHT 
INGALE  to  it. 

ILYA 

Now  then,  thou  feathered  demon, 
Weave  trouble  as  thou  wilt  in  the  dark  caverns  of  thy 

mind! 

If  thoughts  alone  can  wound,  do  then  thy  worst, 
For  we  shall  match  thy  brooding  with  equal  power! 

[NIGHTINGALE  spits  at  ILYA  with  loathing  but  re 
mains  silent^  pacing  restlessly  back  and  forth  like 
a  caged  animal.  As  ILYA  descends  to  the  lower 


stage  the  faint  sound  of  the  wayfarers'  hymn  is 
beard  far  off  in  the  distance.  ILYA  stands  trans 
fixed  and  listening.  ZLATIGORKA  moves  swiftly 
to  bis  side.  Sbe  takes  bis  band  and  attempts  to 
beguile  him  gently  from  his  rapt  attention. 

ZLATIGORKA 
My  warrior,  hast  thou  so  soon  forgot  thy  weaponless  slave? 

ILYA  (recalled from  bis  musings  but  still 

listening) 

Some  old  and  distant  song  seems  now  to  trap  my  senses 
In  the  sweet  snare  of  memory.  I  would  I  could  remember! 

ZLATIGORKA 

Memory  is  the  dull  child  of  yesterday. 

Come,  live  within  the  present's  fair-decked  chamber! 

[Sbe  persuades  him  nearer  and  nearer  the  castle  door. 
Tonight  we'll  drop  the  crimson  curtain  of  our  joy 
And  shut  out  e'en  the  future! 

[Placing  her  shield-girt  arm  about  his  neck  she  shuts 
out  the  sound  of  music  from  bis  troubled  ears  and 
together  they  enter  the  castle.  ^Tbe  wayfarers' 
hymn  grows  nearer  and  fades  away  again. 

NIGHTINGALE 

Sweet  Night,  fond  shroud  of  darkness, 

Let  ever  thy  black  pall  enwrap  my  woe  in  dunnest  weeds, 

And  sharpen  my  revenge  upon  the  flint-harsh  stone  of 

sorrow ! 

Fly  thou  in  ribald  dartings,  my  pestilent  fledglings, 
And,  with  thy  profane  carolings  and  whirr  of  wings, 

[42] 


Drown  out  the  holy  song  that  would  recall  our  love-sick 
vanquisher 

To  his  invincible  purity! 

Hold  him  but  a  short  space  within  the  narrow  cell  of  love 

And  then,  full  truly,  shall  Hell  be  spawned  anew 

Upon  a  helpless  world! 

[NIGHTINGALE'S  brood  dash  out  of  the  gloom  and 
dance  in  wild  abandon  until  the  sound  of  the 
wayfarers'  hymn  becomes  stronger  and  stronger. 
'The  dim  figures  of  the  wayfarers  appear,  coming 
down  the  steep  trail.  'The  brood  flee  and  NIGHT 
INGALE  crouches  close  to  the  spear  to  which  he  is 
chained.  Singing,  the  wayfarers  pass  close  to  the 
castle  and  disappear. 

SONG  OF  THE  WAYFARERS 

Over  the  hills  and  the  plains 
Over  the  streams  and  the  sea 

Come  we  in  mourning 

Come  we  in  warning 

List  to  our  humble  plea! 

Ilya  turn  from  thy  way 

Ilya  turn  from  thy  path 
Think  of  the  race  unrun 
Think  of  the  fight  unwon 

Think  of  God's  righteous  wrath. 

Canst  thou  so  soon  forget, 

Canst  thou  so  soon  deny 
He  who  hath  filled  thy  cup 
He  who  hath  raised  thee  up 

In  holy  power  all-high? 

[431 


Over  the  hills  and  the  plains 

Over  the  streams  and  the  sea    . 
Bowed  low  by  heavy  years 
Bowed  low  by  anxious  fears 

Weary  and  sad  come  we. 

\As  the  last  wayfarer  disappears,  the  door  of  the 
castle  is  suddenly  thrown  open.  ILYA  rushes  out 
pursued  by  ZLATIGORKA. 

ZLATIGORKA 
My  lord,  what  madness  now  hath  seized  thee? 

ILYA 

Destroyer  of  my  peace,  keep  thy  good  distance! 
How  well  do  I  remember  now  the  music 
That  fond  Heaven,  itself,  did  waft  to  me,  in  gracious 

warning. 

And  all  too  swift  at  this  late  hour 
Comes  to  my  mind  the  holy  pilgrim's  charge: 
Keep  thy  heart  clean  and  trust  not  to  the  wiles  of  women! 

ZLATIGORKA  (in  panic) 

Canst  thou  find  in  thy  heart  the  will  to  thus  desert  me 
In  the  full-flush  of  joy?  Have  I  not  bound  in  chains 
Thy  feathered  foe  in  joyful  symbol  of  our  union? 

[!LYA  rushes  upon  NIGHTINGALE  and  dashes  the 
spear  which  tethers  the  bird-demon  to  the  ground. 
Then,  grasping  the  chain  in  his  strong  hands,  he 
proceeds  to  flee  up  the  trail  dragging  NIGHTIN 
GALE  with  him. 

ILYA 

Symbol  of  joy  no  longer  shall  this  chained  monster  be, 
But  rather  will  I  keep  him  close-tethered  neath  my  gaze 

[44] 


Ever  a  reminder  of  my  loathsome  sin! 

Farewell,  thou  warrior  Queen,  let  sorrow  sting  thee  deep! 

For  I  was  pledged  to  sinless  ways  in  token  of  my  sure 
deliverance 

Thus  to  rejoice  the  world  sinful  and  sad. 

But  thou,  unholy  woman,  hast  dashed  these  hopes  still 
born 

Upon  the  rocks  of  red  desire ! 

ZLATIGORKA 

Not  so !  If  thou  hast  lost  all  thought  of  me, 
Think  of  thy  son  who  one  day  shall  this  earth 
Shake  with  his  mighty  tread! 
Stay,  and  with  valorous  arm,  school  him  in  deeds  of  power! 

ILYA 

My  son?  .  .  .  Foul  schemer  thou  liest! 
Virtue  and  sin  have  never  couched  together  to  fruitful 

purpose ! 

Nay,  I'll  not  listen  further!  But  to  the  Holy  City 
Shall  I  flee  for  sanctuary  and  pardon! 

NIGHTINGALE  (with  malicious  laughter) 
Farewell,  ungrateful  witch, 
My  withering  curse  upon  thy  quickening  body! 
Soon  may  the  blight  begin ! 

[To  ILYA. 

And  thou,  foul  son  of  weak-kneed  Virtue, 
Trick  not  thyself  in  the  vain  hope  that  lies 
Are  ever  in  her  mouth.  She  speaks  the  truth! 
Thy  son  shall  live  to  set  a  price  of  bitter  sorrow  and 

drearest  woe 
Upon  thy  sore- won  pardon ! 

[45] 


And  through  the  biting  years,  footsore  and  battle-scarred, 
Shall  thou  seek  vainly  the  sun-lit  road 
Which  leads  to  consecration.  The  Holy  City 
May  be  glimpsed  afar,  but  like  the  Promised  Land 
Unentered  save  by  purity  or  perfect  penance. 

[With  a  despairing  cry,  ZLATIGORKA  falls  to  the 
ground.  ILYA  rushes  up  the  hill  dragging  the 
struggling  NIGHTINGALE,  as  the  dawn  ap 
proaches.  At  each  turn  in  the  trail  a  group  of 
bird-demons  dart  out  at  ILYA  but  the  sight  of  the 
upraised  cross  which  he  holds  aloft  sends  them 
cowering  from  him.  'The  wayfarers'  hymn 
sounds  in  the  distance. 

CURTAIN 


[46 


ACT  III 

The  scene  is  the  same  as  in  Act  I.  twenty  years  have 
elapsed.  It  is  twilight.  'The  sound  of  chimes  is  heard  and  the 
-peasants  drift  on  the  stage  singing. 

CHORUS  OF  PEASANTS 

See  the  slender  brook  on  the  hillside, 

With  its  silver  trickle  on  the  hillside, 

Liuli,  liuli,  the  brooklet! 

Liuli,  liuli,  the  gay  one! 

[Following  the  sound  of  the  chimes  they  disappear, 
with  the  exception  of  MARYA,  who  kneels  before 
a  rude  shrine.  From  the  distance  come  the  voices 
of  the  peasants  singing  an  evening  hymn: 

Stainless  Virgin,  thou  whose  feet  were  weary, 

Where,  sad  Mother,  didst  thou  shelter  find? 

Blessed  Lady,  sorrowing  for  thy  lost  One, 

Where,  O  where,  Mother,  didst  thou  close  thy  tired  eyes? 

O'er  high  hills  and  valleys  lowly, 

Through  the  woodland  wild, 

Weeping  she  went  her  way, 

Seeking,  Christ,  her  child. 

As  the  shadows  fell  there  came 

Footsore  pilgrims  three: 

"  I  beg  thee,  holy  men, 

Hast  thou  passed  my  son?" 

[During  this  song  the  twilight  has  deepened,  and  the 
peasants  return  singing: 

[47] 


Watch  the  golden  stars  in  the  heavens, 

One  by  one  they  glisten  in  the  heavens, 

Liuli,  liuli,  they  glisten! 

Liuli,  liuli,  they  beckon ! 

\As  the  peasants  finish  their  singing  the  FIRST  PEAS 
ANT  catches  sight  of  MARYA'S  kneeling  form  and 
calls  IVAN'S  attention  to  her. 

IVAN  (shaking  his  head) 
Aye,  poor  soul ! 

Thus  doth  she  pour  out  her  life  in  vain  petitions 
For  the  son  who  was  made  whole  for  our  sorrow, 
The  days  were  happier,  by  far,  when  he  lay 
Sweet-voiced  and  helpless  before  our  humble  shelter. 
Remember  thou  this  day  twenty  years  agone 
When,  in  blood-red  might,  he  leapt  high, 
And  waked  us  with  the  sharp  laughter  of  his  ringing  axe? 

FIRST  PEASANT 

Twenty  years?  Dost  thou  say  truly? 
Yes,  I  remember  well!  We  brought  him  gifts 
And  he  rebuked  us  in  all  gentleness, 
For  our  unthinking  woodland  thefts. 
He  was  a  tender  lad  in  his  affliction; 
I  would  that  he  had  been  as  kindly  in  his  might! 
Perhaps,  then,  he  had  not  left  the  little  mother 
Clucking  sorrowfully,  like  a  ruffling  hen, 
Robbed  of  her  feathered  chicks. 

IVAN 

Thou  dost  forget,  he  had  the  will  to  sow  and  reap  with  us, 
But  Heaven's  purpose  was  otherwise.  Callst  thou  not  to 

mind 
The  Holy  Men,  and  how  they  charged  him  with  his  duty? 

[48] 


FIRST  PEASANT 

Aye  .  .  .  and  many  times  have  I  thought  on  it! 
Who  knows,  perhaps  the  swiftest  path  to  God 
Lies  in  the  duty  near  at  hand. 
And  Christ,  Himself,  was  ever  mindful  of  his  mother. 

IVAN 

Ah,  well,  we  must  not  quarrel  with  God's  good  purpose. 
To  some  the  road  is  long  and  ever-winding; 
To  others,  straight  and  clear  and  shining  to  its  end. 
The  nest-tied  lark  doth  never  fleck  the  blue  of  noon-day 
With  sweet-songed  dartings! 

FIRST  PEASANT 

Nor  is  the  mouse  who  keeps  his  hole 
Torn  by  owlet's  dripping  beak! 

IVAN  (shaking  bis  bead) 
Why  argue  further?  What  lark  or  mouse 
Or  man  among  us  can  withstand  his  fate? 

[During  IVAN'S  speech  the  figure  of  ILYA  is  seen 
coming  down  the  trail,  leading  the  dejected 
NIGHTINGALE  by  a  chain. 

IVAN 

Tell  me,  have  I  still  my  dull  but  honest  senses? 
Is  this  the  figure  of  a  man  winding  adown  the  hill, 
Leading  a  monstrous  bird  as  if  it  were  the  dancing  pet  bear 
Of  some  wandering  mountebank? 

FIRST  PEASANT 

In  very  truth  it  is!  Hey,  there,  my  man! 
What  jugglery  dost  thou  perform? 

\JVith  eager  cries  and  much  jostling  the  peasants 
crowd  about  ILYA  as  he  arrives  in  their  midst. 

[49] 


ILYA 

Thou  unmannerly  loons!  Hast  never  seen  before  a  warrior 
In  his  shining  armour?  The  sound  of  pleasant  music 
Lured  me  hither,  but  I  had  better  turned  my  feet 
To  the  ribald  turmoil  of  some  shameless  market-place 
For  all  the  solace  that  thy  noisy  welcome  gives. 
What  is  the  name  of  this  sweet-scented  wood 
That  harbors  such  a  motley  brood? 

FIRST  PEASANT  (stepping  forward} 
We  are  but  simple  folk,  good  sir, 
With  scant  acquaintanceship  with  sorceries 
That  yield  up  birds  of  giant  form  for  cow-like  leading. 
These  are  the  woods  of  Murom. 

ILYA  (overcome  as  be  gazes  wonderingly 

about) 

Murom!  ...  So  'tis  to  this  vain  end  that  all  my  years 
Of  sword-hewn  wanderings  have  come! 
Sweet  Heaven,  rob  me  of  my  might, 
And  give  me  back  the  sweet-sad  days  of  my  impotent 

youth, 

Thrilled  by  the  lark's  cool  song, 
Wooed  to  soft  day-dreams  by  the  whispering  pines, 
And  wrapt  in  holy  fragrance  of  the  flowers! 

\The  peasants  whisper  together,  while  the  bolder  ones 
provoke  the  dejected  NIGHTINGALE  to  quick 
darts  and  spittings. 

IVAN 

Fair  sir,  if  thou  hast  traveled  sore  and  suffered, 
Tarry  with  us  a  season,  and  so  refresh  thyself. 
We  are  but  humble  folk,  as  he  hath  said, 
But  wanderers  are  ever  close  to  our  soft  hearts. 

[50] 


I  have  a  son,  who,  if  he  lives,  I  doubt  not, 
Hath  many  tired  and  foot-sore  moments. 

ILYA  (with  emotion) 

If  'twere  my  lot  I  would  thy  gracious  welcome  wear 
To  thread-bare  end.  But  rest  and  peace  and  fair  security 
May  not  be  mine  until  the  will  of  God  hath  been  accom 
plished. 
This  feathered  monster,  which  thou  all  doth  view  with  such 

wide-mouthed  amaze, 

Is  but  a  living  symbol  of  my  great  unworthiness. 
And  I  have  sworn  to  wander  far  and  wide  in  his  unwhole 
some  company, 

Till  pitiful  Heaven,  with  flaming  sign,  release  me  from  my 
holy  vow ! 

[He  takes  IVAN  by  the  shoulders  and  gazes  intently  at 

him. 
Gracious  father,  knowst  thou  not  me? 

IVAN  (starting  back  in  amazement) 
Ilya  .  .  .  this  thou!  My  son! 

\tVith  a  cry,  MARYA  rushes  forward,  sweeps  her  hus 
band  aside  and  throws  herself  into  ILYA'S  arms. 
The  peasants  crowd  forward  in  great  excitement 
but  at  this  moment  the  SECOND  PEASANT  is  seen 
running  breathlessly  down  the  trail  and  he  breaks 
in  upon  the  throng  with  a  loud  announcement. 

SECOND  PEASANT 

Comrades!  Prince  Vladimir  and  all  his  court 
Come  to  this  woodland  fastness  for  a  revelry. 
To-night,  as  I  returned  from  marketing, 
Met  I  the  wondrous  company  wending  their  way 


With  trumpeting  and  merry  jests  and  valorous  boasting! 
[The  sound  of  trumpets  is  heard. 

Hark !  Already  are  they  here ! 

We'll  look  upon  brave  sights  before  the  dawning! 

[The  peasants  fall  away  to  the  sides  of  the  lower  stage 
as  winding  down  the  trail  come  the  Court  of  Vlad 
imir  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets  and  music.  The 
trumpeters  come  first,  then  the  Metropolitan,  bear 
ing  a  huge  golden  icon,  preceded  by  acolytes 
carrying  the  Bread  and  Salt,  the  Chalice,  and 
swinging  censors.  Then  follow  the  servants  bear 
ing  platters  with  a  boars  head,  roast  swan,  fruits, 
and  flagons  of  wine.  Finally  advances  the  Prince, 
himself ,  followed  by  the  nobles  and  warriors  of  the 
Court.  A  table  is  swiftly  laid  upon  the  upper 
stage  and  an  altar  is  set  up  upon  which  is  deposited 
the  icon,  the  Bread  and  Salt  and  the  covered 
Chalice.  When  all  is  ready,  the  nobles  range  them 
selves  about  the  table,  and,  at  a  sign  from  Prince 
Vladimir,  are  seated.  Before  seating  himself  the 
Metropolitan  blesses  the  company  with  upraised 
forefingers.  The  court  acknowledges  the  benedic 
tion  with  swiftly  bowed  heads,  but  the  peasants 
bend  very  low. 

VLADIMIR  (standing} 
Nobles,  warriors,  goodly  friends, 
I  see  that  thou  art  puzzled  at  our  royal  whim 
For  woodland  feasting;  and  with  good  reason. 
Thy  prince,  as  thou  hast  guessed,  hath  a  deep  purpose 
Behind  this  empty  screen  of  revelry. 
Our  royal  city,  as  thou  knowst,  is  daily  scourged 
And  nightly  sore  beset  by  keen  terrors  that  have  sprung 
Full-fledged  to  strong-armed  evil. 


For  five  and  twenty  days  has  the  shining  blue  of  Heaven 

Been  darkened  at  unseemly  times  by  the  swift  flights 

Of  this  foul  god  of  dread  repute,  Falcon  the  Hunter, 

Riding  the  sky  and  hurling  fiery  darts 

Upon  the  golden  pinnacles  of  our  sweet-chimed  cathedral. 

With  such  an  evil  circumstance  hovering  aloft 

It  would  be  folly's  height  to  plot  its  doom 

Under  the  weighty  canopy  of  gilded  roofs 

And  rough-hewn  timbers.  Thus  did  we,  in  royal  wisdom, 

Decide  upon  this  star-hung  spot  as  safest  for  our  gathering. 

For  here,  though  Falcon  may  be  mighty,  he  cannot  rend 

the  sky 

And  make  of  it  a  shroud  for  our  untimely  end. 
Now,  come  we  to  the  meat  of  what  we  purpose; 
How  many  of  you  here,  knowing  the  dreadful  terror  of  his 

might, 
The  fiery  keenness  of  his  lightning  flash,  the  thunder  of  his 

voice, 

Will  undertake  to  stay  him  when,  in  burning  flight, 
He  next  essays  his  hurtling  ride  athwart  the  speechless 

heavens  ? 

THE  NOBLES   (rising  with  swords  up 
raised) 

We,  all  of  us,  in  company  or  singly, 
As  thou  wilt! 

VLADIMIR 

We  thank  thee,  valiant  knights! 
Knew  we  full  well  that  not  the  humblest  in  our  court 
But  would  fly  quickly  to  the  clarion-call  of  service. 
Pass  now  the  flagons  of  our  gold-green  wine, 
And  let  thy  loyalty  be  sealed  in  brimming  cups. 
Again  our  thanks  go  out  to  you ! 
Let  us  to  meat  and  then  to  well-seasoned  councilling. 

[531 


\The  nobles  seat  themselves  and  the  Metropolitan  again 
raises  his  fingers  in  blessing.  At  this  point,  ILYA 
ties  NIGHTINGALE  to  a  tree,  and  marches  boldly 
up  to  the  banquet-table ',  with  drawn  sword.  At  his 
appearance,  VLADIMIR  and  several  of  the  nobles 
rise  haughtily  to  their  feet. 

VLADIMIR 

How  now,  thou  sword-girt  rustic  ? 

This  is  no  time  for  vain  petitioning! 

Canst  thou  not  grant  thy  sovereign  Prince  a  courteous 

privacy, 

E'en  though  our  fancy  chooses  to  hang 
Naught  but  the  torch-pierced  curtain  of  night 
About  our  festal  board  ? 

ILYA  (drawing  himself  up  in  dignity} 
Gracious  Prince,  thou  dost  misread  my  purpose; 
I  bear  no  whining  pleas  for  charity! 
My  ears  are  ever  opened  to  the  call  of  service; 
Here  is  my  sword,  direct  it  where  thou  wilt. 

VLADIMIR  (sarcastically) 
Our  thanks  to  you,  brave  peasant  knight! 
At  present  speaking  our  court  is  hard  beset  with  mighty 

perils, 

But,  at  a  calmer  day,  mayhap  a  simpler  ill 
Will  wait  upon  thy  well-intentioned  remedy. 

[Glancing  about  the  table. 
Good  friends,  crowd  up  toward  me  a  space, 
That  this  rash  valiant  may  find  a  place  to  sup  with  us! 

[With  much  pushing  and  derisive  laughter  the  nobles 
shift  their  positions  and  leave  a  place  at  the  foot  of 
the  table.  The  PRINCE  motions  ILYA  to  be  seated. 

[54] 


ILYA  (in  a  rage) 

Dost  thou  so  rudely  jest  with  me,  noble  Prince? 
Is  this  mean  seat  at  table's  very  end 
The  measure  of  thy  hospitality  and  my  worth? 

VLADIMIR 

Presumest  thou  to  set  a  rating  on  thy  merit 
Beyond  these  knights,  whose  swords  and  spears 
And  lives  themselves,  are  ever  listed  in  the  cause 
Of  this  our  Holy  Russia? 

Who  art  thou,  that  with  such  gross  impertinence, 
Dares  to  rebuke  thy  sovereign  lord? 

ILYA 

I  am  Ilya,  the  valiant  Cossack, 
Who,  for  twenty  years,  has  wandered  up  and  down 
The  length  and  breadth  of  this  fair  land, 
Wresting  from  God,  with  deeds  of  might  and  goodliness, 
A  pardon  for  the  one  sin  which  binds  me  in  a  weary  thrall. 
If  fair  report  has  kept  the  word  of  my  achievement  from 

thy  noble  ears, 
Then  Fame,  indeed,  is  but  a  mute  and  jealous  godess! 

VLADIMIR 

Ilya,  the  valiant  Cossack! 
If  thy  speech  is  truthful,  then  Heaven  itself  hath  sent  thee 

hither,  this  night! 

Thy  fame  and  might  are  on  the  lips  of  wise  men; 
And  fools  cease  their  babbling  at  the  mention  of  thy  name! 
Draw  nearer  and  let  me  clasp  thy  hand, 
And  sit  thee  at  my  side,  sharing  my  cup  in  perfect  fellow 
ship. 

[VLADIMIR,  with  tbe  utmost  deference^  leads  ILYA  to  a 
place  at  his  side.  Instinctively  the  nobles  make 
way,  rising  and  standing  in  their  places. 

[551 


Fearless  stranger,  what  is  thy  quest?  Whence  comest  thou? 
And  what  favored  spot  claimed  thee  at  thy  birth? 

ILYA 

Vainly  I  seek  the  Holy  City  and  God's  consecration, 
But  Heaven's  displeasure  hath  closed  the  shining  road  to 

my  poor  feet 

And  I  am  doomed  to  stray  in  endless  circles 
Glimpsing  the  Promised  Land  but  scarcely  entering  it. 
My  wanderings  have  been  long  and  devious, 
And  I  would  but  weary  thee  and  all  thy  court 
With  tales  of  my  exploits.  The  name  of  my  birthplace 
Is  more  quickly  told.  Saw  I  the  light  of  day 
In  these  very  woods  of  Murom. 

Below  my  sire  and  mother  stand,  and  all  my  good  com 
panions, 
Of  a  gentler  day. 

VLADIMIR 

This  is  indeed  a  pleasant  circumstance, 
And  augurs  well  for  our  exploit. 

[To  the  servants. 

I  pray  you  carry  refreshment  to  these  worthy  rustics 
Who  honor  God  and  Holy  Russia  with  such  fruitful  issue. 
{The  servants  carry  down  baskets  of  fruit  and  distrib 
ute  them  among  the  peasants. 

NIGHTINGALE  (pacing  restlessly  back  and 

forth  at  the  spot  where  he  is  tethered) 
Swiftly  the  strands  of  fate 
In  warp  and  woof  of  hate 

Are  woven  true. 
And  the  appointed  hour 
Chimes  from  misfortune's  tower 
With  clamorous  hue! 

[56] 


[As  he  finishes  y  he  gives  forth  a  -peal  of  dreadful  laugh 
ter  which  affrights  the  peasants  and  brings  the 
nobles  to  their  feet. 

VLADIMIR  (in  consternation) 
What  dreadful  sound  is  that 
Breaking  upon  our  revelry  with  such  foreboding? 

ILYA 

Noble  sire,  have  no  fear! 

Tis  but  the  living  symbol  of  my  sin,  Nightingale  the  Robber, 
Who,  with  strong  chains,  is  bound  against  all  further  mis 
chief. 
He  and  his  loathsome  brood  were  once  the  scourge  of  pious 

travelers 

In  that  drear  wood,  bordering  the  Black  Morass. 
But,  even  with  their  freedom,  would  he  and  all  his  fledge 
lings 
Be  naught  against  my  valor.  For,  know  you  not,  I  bear  a 

charmed  life? 

Never  in  battle  shall  I  be  slain  while  this  two-edged 
And  glistening  sword  is  in  my  hand! 

[A  sudden  and  terrible  whistling  of  wind  sweeps  the 
wood;  lightnings  flash,  the  thunder  roars,  the 
stage  grows  dark.  Midway  upon  the  trail  appears 
the  brilliant  figure  of  FALCON,  the  Hunter.  'The 
nobles  cower  in  fright  as  do  the  peasants  below. 
Only  ILYA  stands  erect  and  unafraid. 

FALCON  (in  a  loud  and  terrible  voice) 
Where  is  this  thief  and  braggart  who  boasts  of  charmed 

life? 

Let  him  withstand  my  fiery  darts  if  he  but  can; 
And  then,  if  there  is  still  a  puff  of  whispering  breath 
Within  his  stinking  carcass,  he'll  have  good  cause  for 

boasting! 

[57] 


ILYA  (running  up  the  bill  to  meet  bis  ad 
versary) 
I  am  here  thou  arrant  liar  and  white-livered  spawn  of 

weakness ! 
Come,  do  thy  worst,  and  let  me  prove  myself! 

[They  grapple  and  wrestle  together.  The  nobles,  recov 
ering  themselves,  begin  to  encourage  ILYA  with 
cries  and  taunts.  'The  peasants  still  cower,  afraid. 
NIGHTINGALE  laughs  sardonically.  Finally,  FAL 
CON  wrests  himself  free  of  ILYA  and  hurls  a  fiery 
dart  at  him.  ILYA  stands  smiling  and  unscathed. 

ILYA 

Thou  art  a  dauntless  foe  and  worthy  of  my  mettle! 
But,  look  thee,  how  thy  darts  turn  back  from  my  charmed 

body! 
Brave  youth,  tell  me  thy  land  and  horde  and  father. 

FALCON 

What  need  hast  thou  of  such  full  knowledge? 
Shave  thee  thy  head  while  there  is  yet  good  time 
And  get  thee  to  a  monastery! 

[They  renew  the  fight.  ILYA  presently  gets  the  upper 
hand  and,  pinning  his  adversary  close  against 
the  bank,  draws  his  sword. 

ILYA 

Tell  me  thy  parenthood,  good  youth. 
I  would  know  the  sire  and  dam  who  bred  such  courage! 

FALCON 

My  mother  is  Zlatigorka,  the  gentle  warrior  queen. 
My  father  know  I  in  name  only. 
Ilya,  the  Valiant  Cossack,  is  he  called. 

[58] 


ILYA  (falling  back  and  releasing  FALCON) 
Gracious  Heaven,  can  this  be  true? 

VALDIMIR  (tauntingly) 
How  now,  boastful  Ilya? 
Canst  not  dispatch  this  festering  pestilence? 
Where  is  the  fealty  and  might  thou  swore  to  me? 

ILYA 

Sweet  Prince,  this  is  my  son,  sprung  from  my  very  loins, 
Flesh  of  my  flesh,  with  my  hot  blood  pricking  him  to 

wrathful  valor. 

Let  me  but  plead  with  him  the  while  in  penitent  chivalry 
To  cast  his  lot  with  mine  for  holy  strivings. 

VLADIMIR 

Not  so!  He  is  a  deadly  scourge! 

Thy  first  loyalty  is  to  thy  God, thy  country  and  thy  Prince! 
Dispatch  him  as  thou  hast  sworn,  or,  by  our  Sacred  Lord, 
We'll  see  it  done  by  fair  or  foul  means! 

ILYA 

Speak  not  so  rashly.  I,  and  I  alone,  have  power  for  his  un 
doing. 

[He  turns  to  FALCON 

Swear  fealty  to  thy  father  and  yon  Prince,  my  beauteous 
son, 

And  straightway  shall  I  release  thee  from  thy  doom. 

Go  thou  again  in  peace  to  thy  fond  mother, 

Who  once  in  virgin  fierceness  sought  to  turn  from  my  pur 
pose; 

Tell  her  my  anger  and  my  loathing  have  by  thy  doughty 
valiance 

Been  swallowed  up. 

[591 


From  this  night  on,  shall  I  her  image  cherish, 
Forever  in  a  soft  and  golden  heart. 

FALCON 

What!  thou  my  father?  Thou  loutish  peasant  in  a  masquer 
ade  of  knightly  splendor! 

['Turning  toward  the  hillside  and  calling  loudly. 
What  ho!  My  mother! 
Zlatigorka,  appear,  and  choke  this  feeble  lie 
Back  in  the  throat  of  one  who  would  escape  my  might 
By  rustic  trickery! 

[Far  up  on  the  hillside  the  figure  of  ZLATIGORKA  ap 
pears. 

ZLATIGORKA 

Falcon,  thou  mighty  hunter,  son  of  my  gentler  years, 
Didst  thou  call  me?  Or  have  the  whispering  trees 
Made  sport  of  anxious  ears  with  sounds  of  sweet  deceit? 

FALCON 
Thou  wert  called  indeed!  Here  stands  a  man  of  dung-hill 

breed, 

Who  would  persuade  me  that  nature  in  a  devilish  gambol 
Did  snare  thee  as  his  mate,  and  that  I  am  sprung 
From  such  a  filthy  marriage-bed! 

ZLATIGORKA   (peering  down  intently  at 

ILYA) 

Fair  and  reckless  Falcon,  he  says  truly! 
Bow  thou  in  all  pride  and  fond  humility  upon  the  ground 

before  his  feet. 

For  thou  art  happy  in  a  sire  whom  none  can  conquer! 
He  did  forget  me  speedily  and  wound  me  sore 
But  from  the  scourge  of  his  disdain  rose  I  to  gentler  power. 
The  feet  of  mighty  men  must  ever  crush, 
Whatever  stands  within  the  paths  they  blaze! 

[60] 


FALCON 

Thou  shameless  bawd!  Thou  hussey!  Thou  whore! 
Better  had  I  from  deep  oblivion  been  ne'r  released 
Than  had  such  stinking  scum  as  this  for  father! 
Tis  well,  I'll  see  that  nevermore  shall  warrior-blood 
Be  fouled  by  taint  of  vileness! 

[FALCON  lifts  his  right  hand  high  and  hurls  a  dart  at 

ZLATIGORKA.  As  it  strikes  her  she  gives  a  stricken 

cry  and  falls  dead. 

ILYA  (rushing  upon  FALCON) 

What  hast  thou  done,  thou  white  and  leprous  sin  made 

flesh? 

Thought  I  at  first  to  spare  thee,  but  now,  thou  diest! 
And  with  thee  all  my  guilt  and  heavy  penance! 

[!LYA  draws  his  magic  sword  and  runs  FALCON 
through.  FALCON'S  body  falls  to  the  ground.  ILYA 
gives  a  despairing  cry  and  staggers  down  the  trail. 
VLADIMIR  meets  him  half-way. 

ILYA  (wailing) 

He  was  my  son,  fair  of  form  and  keen  of  eye ! 

He  was  my  son,  mighty  in  battle  and  full  of  valor! 

He  was  my  son,  and  by  his  father's  hand  he  died! 

VLADIMIR  (presenting  him  to  the  Metro 
politan) 

Here  is  God's  chosen  instrument  for  good. 

Present  thou  him  a  living  sacrifice  before  the  throne  of 

grace, 
For  he  hath  purchased  our  release  from  terror  at  a  grievous 

price ! 


THE  METROPOLITAN  (chanting) 
The  Lord  distributeth  sorrows  in  his  anger. 
And  dominion  and  fear  are  with  him. 
Yet  he  maketh  his  peace  in  high  places 
And  with  his  right  hand  doth  he  put  out  the  candle  of  the 
wicked. 

[He  removes  ILYA'S  helmet  and  places  his  two  hands  in 
blessing  upon  ILYA'S  head  as  he  kneels  before  the 
Icon. 

The  Lord  withdraweth  not  his  eyes  from  the  faithful 
And  if  they  be  bound  in  fetters  of  sin 
Or  holden  in  cords  of  affliction. 
Then  he  sheweth  them  his  work  and  openeth  their  ears  to 

his  discipline. 

That  they  may  spend  their  days  in  prosperity  and  their 
years  in  pleasure. 

VLADIMIR  (to  the  attendants) 

Take  litters  in  thy  hands  and  lay  these  heathen  dead 
In  readiness  for  decent  burial.  Perhaps  his  sacrifice 
Will  cleanse  them  of  profane  corruption  and  set  the  seal 
Of  Christian  grace  upon  them! 

[To  the  solemn  notes  of  a  funeral  march  the  attendants 
ascend  the  hill  with  litters  upon  which  they  deposit 
the  dead.  At  the  same  time  the  acolytes  distribute 
candles  among  the  peasants  who  light  them  and 
kneel  between  the  two  biers  as  they  are  placed 
finally  on  the  lower  stage.  ILYA  rises  from  his 
knees  and  moves  slowly  and  sorrowfully  down  to 
the  lower  level  where  he  stands  gazing  tenderly  at 
the  dead. 

ILYA 

Fond  mate  of  sudden  springtime, 
Thou  wert  indeed  closer  to  my  heart 

[62] 


Than  God's  cold  penance  would  allow! 

And  thou,  too,  impetuous  blossom  of  love's  golden  sum 
mering, 

I  would  that  thy  cold  lips  might,  for  but  one  brief  moment, 

Call   me   in   tenderness   and   proud   acknowledgement — 
father! 

NIGHTINGALE  (with  bantering  laughter) 

Daring  Ilya!  Valiant  Cossack! 

So  tis  to  this  brave  ending  that  all  thy  boasting  paths  have 

led! 
Who  now  is  mightier,  a  father  robbed  of  his  fair  issue  by 

his  own  hand, 

Or  Nightingale,  the  Robber,  whose  hate  and  malice 
Can  by  no  hot-forged  chains  be  safely  bound? 
Recallst  thou  not  my  warning: 
Thy  son  shall  live  to  set  a  price 
Of  bitter  sorrow  and  drearest  woe 
Upon  thy  sore- won  pardon  ? 

ILYA 

Aye  .  .  .  thou  wert  ever  gifted  in  foul  prophesies! 
Perhaps  thy  memory  serves  thee  also  for  thine  own  swift 

doom! 

This  valiant  Queen  who  pledged  thy  safety  is  no  more, 
And  with  her  died  thy  curst  immunity! 

[!LYA  crosses  over  to  NIGHTINGALE  and,  catching  him 

by  the  throat ',  strangles  him  and  flings  his  body 

upon  the  ground. 

So  let  all  thy  sinister  flock  languish  and  die  with  thee, 
And,  from  their  mouldering  carcasses  arise, 
No  more  a  serpent-hissing  brood,  but,  by  the  grace  of  God, 
Sweet  singers  that  shall  wake  the  moon-lit  hours 
To  swooning  ecstacy! 


THE  METROPOLITAN  (appearing  on  the 
edge  of  the  upper  stage  and  swinging  a 
censor  in  blessing} 

The  Lord  doth  build  up  his  holy  city; 
He  lifteth  up  the  meek  and  He  casteth  the  wicked  on  the 

ground. 
He  healeth  the  broken  in  heart  and  bindeth  up  their 

wounds; 

He  gathereth  together  the  outcasts  and  the  forsaken. 
The  Lord  telleth  the  number  of  stars  and  He  calleth  them 

by  their  names. 
Great  is  His  power  and  his  understanding  is  infinite! 

\As  the  METROPOLITAN  finishes,  the  kneeling  peas  ants 
break  into  song. 

SONG  OF  THE  PEASANTS 

Lord,  grant  these  dead  a  sure  release. 
From  all  their  vain  and  wilful  debt; 

Receive  their  souls  and  give  them  peace 
And  on  their  brows  forgiveness  set. 

They  were  but  shaped  to  meet  thy  plans 

So  let  them  lie  in  sweet  repose 
And  as  our  faith  thy  anger  spans 

Bud  thorns  of  sin  with  pardon's  rose. 
\?he  wayfarers'  chorus  is  heard  and  midway  upon 
the  trail  the   wayfarers   appear^  climbing   up 
ward. 

SONG  OF  THE  WAYFARERS 

Over  the  hills  and  the  plains 

Over  the  streams  and  the  sea 
Come  we  in  gladness 
Robbed  of  all  sadness 

Chanting  our  Lord's  decree. 


Now  is  the  morning  come 

Now  is  the  blackness  flown 
Sorrow  and  strife  doth  end 
Peasant  and  prince  doth  bend 

Before  one  throne! 

Ilya,  thou  art  thrice  blessed 
Ilya,  thou  art  thrice  free; 
Praise  thou  the  Holy  One 
Praise  thou  his  Gracious  Son, 

Praise  thou  the  Blessed  Three ! 
[A s  the  wayfarers  reach  the  highest  point,  they  range 
themselves  with  the  first  wayfarer  in  the  center  and 
the  others  on  either  side. 

ILYA 
Now  doth  the  thorn-hedged  path  of  yester-year  laugh  with 

sweet-scented  bloom, 
And,  in  a  shining  course,  stretches  its  way  with  arrow 

swiftness 

To  the  Holy  City  where  I  shall  seal  God's  pardon 
Beneath  the  gilded  canopy  of  His  wondrous  sanctuary. 
Farewell,  sweet  friends !  Good  sire  and  mother  adieu ! 
Once  more  I  go  about  my  Father's  business  and  in  His 
gracious  care  I  leave  thee,  all ! 

[!LYA  mounts  to  the  upper  stage  where  he  is  met  by 
VLADIMIR  and  embraced. 

VLADIMIR 

Ilya,  thou  holy  peasant  we  greet  thee! 
Ilya,  thou  valiant  Cossack,  all  hail! 
Peasant  and  humble  warrior,  no  longer, 
But,  knighted  by  our  earthly  hand, 
Henceforth  to  us  and  all  our  court 
Ilya,  of  Murom,  shalt  thou  be! 

[65] 


[VLADIMIR  removes  ILYA'S  faded  blue  robe  and  throws 
a  white  and  gold  cloak  about  his  shoulders.  Sud 
denly  a  bright  light  appears  where  the  wayfarers 
have  grouped  themselves  far  upon  the  hillside.  The 
holy  men  are  seen  divested  of  their  coarse  brown 
cloaks^  all  clothed  in  white  and  shining  raiment 
with  halos  about  their  heads.  At  this  transforma 
tion  even  the  nobles  bow  low. 

THE  WAYFARERS  (singing) 
Praise  ye  the  Lord. 
Sing  unto  the  Lord  a  new  song. 

Praise  ye  Him  all  His  angels:  praise  ye  Him  all  His  hosts. 
Praise  ye  Him  sun  and  moon:  praise  ye  Him  all  ye  stars  of 
light. 

THE  METROPOLITAN  (singing) 
For  He  covereth  the  heaven  with  clouds 
And  He  prepareth  rain  for  the  earth. 
He  maketh  the  trees  to  flourish  upon  the  mountains; 
And  He  causeth  peace  to  dwell  within  thy  borders. 

THE  ENTIRE  COMPANY  (singing) 
He  causeth  the  wind  to  blow  and  the  grass  to  grow  for  the 

cattle, 
And  herbs  for  the  service  of  man  that  He  may  bring  forth 

food  upon  the  earth. 
He  sendeth  the  springs  into  the  valleys  which  run  among 

the  hills; 
He  taketh  pleasure  in  them  that  fear  Him,  in  those  that 

hope  in  His  mercy! 

THE  WAYFARERS  (singing) 
Praise  the  Lord  with  the  sound  of  trumpet 
Praise  Him  with  psaltery  and  with  harp! 

[661 


THE  METROPOLITAN  (singing) 
Praise  Him  with  timbrel  and  with  dance; 
Praise  Him  with  stringed  instruments  and  organs! 

THE  ENTIRE  COMPANY  (singing) 
Let  everything  that  hath  breath  praise  the  Lord! 

FIRST  WAYFARER  (singing) 
In  the  name  of  the  Father! 

SECOND  WAYFARER  (singing) 
And  of  the  Son ! 

THIRD  WAYFARER  (singing) 
And  of  the  Holy  Spirit! 

THE  METROPOLITAN  (singing) 

Through  Ages  of  Ages; 

From  everlasting  to  everlasting: 

THE  ENTIRE  COMPANY  (singing) 

AMEN 

[!LYA  with  outstretched  arms  and  a  look  of  ecstacy 
climbs  toward  the  shining  figures ,  followed  by  the 
court.  A  blaze  of  light  illumines  the  forest. 


SYNOPSIS  OF  THE  MUSIC 

In  writing  the  music  for  the  Bohemian  Grove  Play  of 
1920, 1  have  endeavored  to  avoid  any  systematic  arrange 
ment  of  a  series  of  songs  and  choruses.  It  was  rather  my 
intention  to  write  a  free,  unhampered  flow  of  melody  inci 
dental  to  the  story,  and  serving  as  a  musical  background, 
as  it  were,  thus  forming  a  part  of  the  entire  atmosphere  of 
the  performance. 

The  Prelude  begins  with  a  virile  passage  (No.  i),  inter- 


No.  1 


preted  by  the  violas,  cellos,  and  basses  and  written  in  fugue 
form,  creating  the  impression  that  something  of  great 
dramatic  importance  is  about  to  happen.  In  the  Diver 
tissement  of  the  Fugue,  Theme  No.  2,  which  consists  of  a 


No.  2 


Russian  Dance,  is  introduced,  and  after  the  Stretta  of  the 
Fugue  the  Lament  of  Ilya  (No.  3),  sung  behind  the  scenes, 


is  heard.  Following  the  Lament  choruses  of  the  peasants 
come  from  the  distance  introducing  in  fragmentary  form 


a-" 


1:  T  yJl   l>  ^ 


)     ^    J     Jn==4 


^ 


C-  T.  &•  E-  E 


* 


No.  4 


themes  Nos.  4  and  2,  gradually  fading  away  until  they 
become  merged  with  the  first  scene  of  the  play. 

Theme  No.  5  is  the  Song  of  the  Peasants  written  in  6/8 


s 


r    lyi    (  i^=^ 


y 


No.  5 


time,  the  second  part  (No.  6)  is  written  in  3  /^  time  and 


after  the  first  eight  measures  sung  by  the  basses  these  two 
themes  are  combined  being  rendered  simultaneously. 

The  Chorus  of  the  Axes  consists  of  the  development  of 
Themes  'Nos.  2  and  4  which  were  already  heard  in  the 
Prelude.  This  chorus  is  a  grand  ensemble  number  of 
chorus,  orchestra  and  ballet.  The  finale  of  this  number  is 
a  brilliant  development  of  Theme  No.  2. 

Theme  No.  7  is  the  Chorus  of  the  Wayfarers  and  it  be- 


No.  7 


gins  with  a  four-part  chorus  followed  by  a  tenor  solo  con 
sisting  of  a  Russian  melody  (No.  8);  the  chorus  is  after- 


No.  8 


ward  repeated  with  orchestral  accompaniment  in  a  more 
elaborate  form. 

[71] 


Immediately  after  the  Interlude  between  the  first  and 
second  acts  the  Nightingale  Theme  (No.  9),  is  introduced, 


No.  9 


and  following  an  intensely  dramatic  climax  the  Dance  of 
the  Bird  Demons  (No.  10)  begins. 


';  oybdU 


*= 


-m 


No.  10 


Theme  No.  1 1  portrays  Ilya  after  his  miraculous  change 


from  a  cripple  to  a  strong,  vigorous  youth,  and  it  is  there 
fore  an  entirely  different  theme  from  No.  3,  the  Lament, 
which  depicts  Ilya  in  his  crippled  state.  Henceforth  the 

[72] 


new  theme  is  used  as  a  leading  motive  to  describe  each 
mood  of  Ilya  during  the  rest  of  the  action. 


No.  12 


Theme  No.  12  pictures  the  Love  of  Zlatigorka. 
The  Prelude  to  the  third  act  is  built  around  a  theme 
of  chimes  (No.  13)  heard  from  various  directions,  and  a 


No.  13 


joyful  chorus  of  peasants  on  the  way  to  church  (No.  14) 


No.  14 


is  introduced.  From  the  church  comes  a  sacred  chorus 
with  organ   accompaniment   (No.    15)   which  is  written 

[731 


ftUtt-.JIfcf.*. 


I 


£SE£ 


m 


<F=£ 


m 


a=r5 


w 


NP 


UrtO/lU^- 


f 


V 


m 


No.  15 


according  to  the  Gregorian  school  of  composition.  After 
this  sacred  chorus  Theme  No.  13  brings  this  Prelude  to  a 
thrilling  close.  This  Prelude  is  an  elaboration  of  the  second 
sketch  of  the  Water  Colors  Suite. 

The  introduction  of  the  Funeral   March  (No.   16)  is 


No.  16 


played  by  the  cellos  as  a  solo,  describing  the  despair  and 
anguish  of  Ilya  after  slaying  his  son. 

[74] 


The  Finale  is  architecturally  constructed  from  the 
daintiest  pianissimo  of  the  basses  to  the  most  powerful 
and  imposing  climax  in  which  orchestra,  chorus,  organ 
and  soloists  combine,  and  this  Finale  is  developed  from 
the  Theme  of  the  Wayfarers  (No.  7).  The  work  is  scored 
for  two  flutes  and  piccolo,  two  oboes  and  English  horn, 
two  clarinets,  two  bassoons  and  double  bassoon,  four 
horns,  three  trumpets,  three  trombones,  tuba,  harp, 
celesta,  glockenspiel,  tympani,  percussion,  strings  and 


organ.* 


ULDERICO  MARCELLI. 


NOTE.    This  organ  is  now  being  introduced  for  the  first  time  in  the 
history  of  Grove  Plays. 


[75 


YC   16766 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


